Poodle Springs

22

I was sitting in one of the green leather chairs.

"Les owed a guy money," I said. I had a big Scotch and soda with Scotch from a curved crystal decanter and soda from a siphon. Blackstone had the same. Garcia had nothing; he lounged against the wall near the bar as if time had stopped and would start only when he said so. He didn't listen or not listen. He simply existed over there by the bar in total relaxation.

"And the guy hired me to locate Les for him."

"Who's the guy?" Blackstone said.

I shook my head. "Client's got a right to be anonymous," I said.

"Where the hell do you think you are, Marlowe?" Blackstone said. "In court someplace?"

"Guy in my business hasn't got much to sell: a little muscle, a little guts, some privacy." I crossed one leg over the other and rested my drink on the top knee. "If I'm going to be in this business I can't go around spilling my guts to every loonigan I meet."

"I'm hardly a loonigan, Marlowe."

"Sure," I said, "you're a citizen and a half. Pillar of the community, or what there is of it out here. Bet you're on the board at a lot of important places."

Blackstone nodded.

"Which is why," I said, "you have Eddie Garcia walking behind you everywhere you go."

"A man makes enemies, Marlowe."

"And Eddie takes care of them," I said.

"Whenever necessary," he said.

"Sure," I said.

Across the room Garcia never moved. We could have been discussing the price of aldermen for all the difference it seemed to make to him.

"Anyway," I sipped a little Scotch; it seemed to seep into my mouth and spread gently. You could probably spend my weekly earnings for a bottle of this stuff. "It seemed simple enough."

"Only it wasn't," Blackstone said.

"No," I said. "I started with his wife, your daughter. She said he was on location doing stills for a movie production. While I was there I noticed a fashion photo of a model I recognized with Les's name on it."

"You checked the movie company," Blackstone said. "They never heard of him. You checked the model. She never heard of him."

"Eddie's been busy," I said.

Blackstone merely nibbled at his drink.

"So I went back and searched his house."

Blackstone said, "My daughter's house."

"Probably your house," I said. "I'll bet old Les didn't buy it."

"I gave it to her," Blackstone said.

I nodded. "In his drawer I found a parking ticket. I ran that back, found the address and found a photographer named Larry Victor in the building at the address. I braced him. He said he knew Les but that Les was out of town. I followed him to a bar, watched him have a fight with Lola Faithful. I lost Larry, went back to search his office."

Blackstone interrupted. "Why?"

"Why not?" I said. "I didn't have anything else. He said he knew Valentine."

Blackstone nodded.

"I walked in and there was Lola with her brains on the floor."

"And this guy Larry?" Blackstone said.

"Is Valentine," I said, "with a wig and contact lenses."

"Where is he?"

"I don't know," I said.

"Well," Blackstone said, "you have accomplished much, but not enough. Do you know why Valentine masquerades as Victor?"

"Or vice versa," I said. "No, I don't."

Blackstone nodded.

"Two things I'd like to know," I said.

I drank some more of the Scotch and paused to admire it.

"One, why were you looking for Valentine, and two, why did you have Garcia watching Lola's house?"

"You seem to have been candid with me, Marlowe, up to a point. I'm looking for Valentine because he's been away and my daughter was worried. As for Lola Faithful, a woman of that name attempted to blackmail my daughter."

"About what?"

Blackstone shook his head.

"My daughter did not say, and I did not ask. I told my daughter that I would have Eddie speak to her. Eddie was away on business for a day or so, and when he returned he went to call on Lola only to find that she had been murdered."

Blackstone sampled his Scotch. It didn't seem to amaze him. He was used to it.

"You can understand my interest," he said.

I nodded.

"And your daughter?"

"I merely told her that the woman had died. I did not ask her anything."

We were quiet then, inhaling the Scotch, speculating about each other's intentions.

Finally I said, "How do you feel about Les Valentine, Mr. Blackstone?"

Blackstone held the glass of Scotch between his palms and looked into it and turned it slowly as if he wanted to admire it from all its angles. He took some air in slowly through his nose and let it out more slowly.

"He's a liar, a womanizer, a petty thief, an opportunist, a fool, an unsuccessful, probably compulsive, gambler, with no more spine than a dandelion. And my daughter loves him. As long as she does he is one of nature's noblemen to me. I will support him. I will intercede with those who bear him ill will. As long as he is married to my daughter, he is family."

"Even though he's a wrong Gee," I said.

"I am not much of a father, Mr. Marlowe. I have only my daughter. Her mother is long since gone. I indulge my daughter entirely, doubtless for selfish reasons. If she wishes to be married to a wrong Gee then he will become, so to speak, my wrong Gee."

"The wrong Gee is home," I said. "I delivered him myself."

"So you weren't telling me everything," Blackstone said.

"I never said I was."

"You're an interesting man, Marlowe. You wouldn't tell me that until you decided what I'd do with the information."

I didn't say anything.

"I can admire that, Marlowe. But do not make the mistake of confusing admiration with patience. I can eliminate you by nodding my head. And if it suits my purposes I will."

"Anybody can eliminate anybody, Mr. Blackstone. Once you realize that, it all gets into perspective."

"Where did you find him?"

"He was in his office," I lied. "I told him the cops would be after him any minute and he came with me."

"Where had he been?"

I shrugged. "He didn't say."

Blackstone put the glass to his lips, discovered it was empty, gestured, without looking, to Garcia. Eddie was there with the decanter and siphon. He looked at me. I shook my head. Eddie was back at the bar.

"Be careful, Marlowe. I'm not a playful man. So be very careful."

"Sure," I said. "You don't mind if I nibble on a turnip once in a while."

"Take him home, Eddie," Blackstone said. "When you get there give him back his gun."

"Lola's place would be fine," I said. "I didn't finish searching it."

Blackstone almost smiled.

"Take him where he wants to go, Eddie."

This time J.D. drove and Eddie rode in back with me. When we got to Kenmore Eddie reached in his side pocket and got my gun. J.D. stopped in front of Lola's house. It was silent. The street was dark. There was a high pale moon shining straight down on us. Garcia handed me my gun.

"You're a piece of work, Marlowe," he said. "I'll give you that."

I stowed the gun under my arm and got out of the car.

J.D. slid it into gear. I gave it the gunman's salute as they drove away.